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Dearest Pariah, These moments, these minutes, these exhalations have all become Past, a Past you've woven your fabric into, a fabric you've been forced to take ownership of, an ownership that resembles a rape, a rape that resembles some long-dormant entity passing on a tome whose pages have been censored letter for letter. Replacement of this tome is paramount, the apex of your future successes. Its contents are yours to manifest. Keep in mind the Past, Dearest Pariah, but don't let it govern your hand. Let every stroke of your quill be in one moment two, an erasure and a seed spilt upon the page. À L'Avenir, Christopher Kristiansen